Cleansing
by gaudy
Summary: Its AU, what happens every time Sark comes from a job? Sarkney


Title: Cleansing  
  
Author: Gaudy  
  
E-mail: gaudicia@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: I don't claim to owe Alias. The show belongs to ABC and JJ Abrams, etc.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Couple: Sarkney  
  
Summary: Its AU, what happens every time Sark comes from a job?  
  
Author's note: This is my first Alias fic. So I'm a little nervous. I want to thanks Jess for betaing the fic. I hope you guys enjoy it.  
Cleansing  
  
Sydney woke to find the left side of the bed still made, cold. She sat up, peeling off the covers that kept her warm. Her eyes adapted to the darkness in the room, and she finally registered the glow of the light that made its way under the bedroom door, and she knew he was there. She didn't bother to put on her sandals, she went to him barefoot the feeling of the rug under her toes welcomed, offering a homey kind of comfort.  
  
She carefully made her way towards him, so as not to disturbed him. She leaned against the wall, observing him, trying to make out his mood. It hadn't been an easy job, she concluded. How many times had she found him this way? With a glass of wine in his hand, only a lamp illuminating half of his face the other half hidden by the darkness, blood smeared on his suit. Some times there was blood and sometimes there wasn't. But the smell of death would still linger with him.  
  
She saw the hesitation mid sip and it was the indication she needed to know he was aware of her presence, but he still hadn't met her eyes and when he did, his blue eyes pierced into hers, taking her breath away. She caught a glimpse of emotions in them. Pain. Regret. Self-loathing. But before she could tell if they were real or not, they were gone. It made her wondered if it was just a fragment of her imagination. A while ago she had learned they weren't, but it'd work for the best if she believed they were--in their line of work they couldn't afford emotions, especially not him. She'd finally come to understand that--the hard way. Falling in love with Sark could not be considered easy. She really didn't care if the CIA thought he was ruthless with no emotions--with no heart...--she knew better and that was the only thing that mattered.  
  
"You should be more careful, Love, leaving yourself vulnerable like that to me--I wouldn't advise it," he had replied when she had told him she loved him, but his eyes had darkened in intensity. And even if he hadn't voiced it, she knew that along the way she had planted a hook in his heart. She never told him again, and what she never told him was that sometimes he allowed her to see more than a ruthless killer. Maybe that soft edge had been there all along. If you weren't looking for it you wouldn't find it. A year ago she wouldn't have looked for it, and by God he hid it well. Now she knew what to look for.  
  
She slowly walked towards him and took the wine from his hands placing it on the table next to his gun. He didn't protest, and he didn't move. She gave him a small smile, and her fingers moved quickly and expertly as they undid his tie. Next she moved her hands to his shoulders and then under the jacket and began to pull it down. She gave him another small smile as it was becoming rather awkward to take off his jacket with him still sitting.  
  
"Burn it," he whispered once he had helped her get the top of the suit off, and she did.  
  
She didn't go back to Sark, instead she stood in front of the fire place and watched as the jacket was consumed by the flames. Every time he came from a mission it was the same ritual. Cleansing his soul and perhaps even her own.  
  
She didn't know how long she stood by the fire, but she knew it was time to leave the room when she felt Sark's hand on her back. She turned to face him, and she took his hand and began to pull him to her room. After just a few steps he stopped and went to retrieve his gun. Pain clouded her eyes. He still couldn't trust her enough to go to bed without his gun, and she did everything she could to push away the image of her own gun in the night table by her bed. By the time he turned to her she had masked the pain. This was the only way it could ever be. No matter what, they would never truly be able to trust each other completely.  
  
She stood by the door and let him make his way to the left side of the bed. She smiled inwardly. He had a side of the bed. The sound of the gun being placed on the night table brought her back to reality. She nervously clasped her hands together. She could ask what he had done, even lecture him, question him, beg him to leave his job when she knew there was no getting out of what he did...,--or she could make him forget. She opted for the second option.  
  
She walked towards him, placed her hands on his chest and kissed him. It was slow at her first, then she felt his arms around her waist pulling her closer. His fingers dug into her skin and she knew that it in the morning it would be the only trace of him not being an illusion. He kissed her like a man on the edge of insanity.  
  
She moaned into the kiss as their tongues dueled for dominance. Always fighting for control. She moved her hips and pride swelled through out her as she felt his reaction to their ministrations. She wasn't the only one affected by them. They broke the kiss, both gasping for air. She could already see in his eyes that he was trying to regain control of his body. What he didn't know was that she planned on having all the control tonight and strip him of his. She quickly undid his pants, and gave him as sultry smile as his hands automatically moved to stop hers.  
  
"Do you really want me to stop?" Her voice was husky as her mind was already imagining this she could do with his naked body. She chuckled as his hand dropped to the side.  
  
She pushed his pants down and proceeded to push him onto the bed, straddling him. His hand went to her hips.  
  
"There's something wrong here," he stated. His hands moved to the hem of her night shirt.  
  
She managed to put a clueless look on her face. "What are you talking about?" The question was followed by a moan as she felt him grind himself against her.  
  
"You still have your clothes on." To remedy that, he took them off her. "That's better."  
  
She moved her hands to his shoulders and leaned forward, her lips brushing against his but never quite pressed fully against them. She felt him grind against her again, and she bit her lip to prevent the moan from coming out of her lips. She wanted to take her pants off, to feel him fully pressed against her center with no barriers, but this was the only way to remain in control.  
  
She began to drop kisses down his neck tenderly as if she were kissing unseen wounds.  
  
"Sydney," Sark growled in frustration.  
  
"Shhh," she said, pressing her fingers against his lips.  
  
But his fingers were already pulling down her pants, and before she could react they were thrown to the floor and she was under him. Fighting for dominance again...yet she gave him control as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  
  
"I need you. Now," he growled. He wasn't the same Sark as moments before, on the edge of insanity. He was now Sark that most feared, the one past the agony of bringing death. He was back in control--in control of her, but not of his emotions.  
  
She nodded, and she gasped as he forcefully entered her, her fingernails digging into his skins. She fought to keep her eyes open as she moved with him. This was the only time when he allowed his feelings to be truly unmasked.  
  
"Sark," she cried out as she felt herself closer to the edge. Just a few more strokes and she was there, sobbing his name as she crossed the line to pleasure. Even if her mind was still clouded by the pleasure, a lone thought still lingered.  
  
Tomorrow this night would not exist, and he would be back to being the enemy.  
  
She still felt his hands exploring her body, and she decided not to duel about tomorrow, instead she snuggled against him. She would take what he had to offer even if it was just a few nights in between.  
  
* * *  
  
Sydney moved to the side in her sleep and through her sleep-fogged mind she was able to register that it was empty again. She didn't open her eyes; she used her other senses. The side was still warm; it hadn't been long since he left. She couldn't prolonged it any longer. She opened her eyes and saw the light coming through the windows.  
  
It was tomorrow.  
  
Her every move seemed to hurt, and she appeared to be carrying an immense weight on her shoulders that made all her movements awkward as she got dressed. She looked herself over in the mirror, and she was ready to face the day. Only one piece was missing. Her gun and her CIA credentials.  
  
She walked over to the night table and opened the drawer. She stared at the two items, and like every other morning after a night spent with Sark, she actually considered closing the drawer and not going to work. But like every other time, she took both items.  
  
It was time to hunt the enemy again.  
  
THE END. 


End file.
